


Proof

by Kahvi



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rimmer and Lister go scavenging in an android brothel, it's every man (and droid) for him or herself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://roadstergal.livejournal.com/profile)[roadstergal](http://roadstergal.livejournal.com/), ever my inspiration. This isn't what this story was supposed to be. It was supposed to be a vignette, and have an entirely different plot. But eight pages later, and there you go!

"Perhaps it's fitting," Rimmer said, loud enough to indicate that he wanted the attention of the room.

Being the only other occupant in the room, Lister disentangled himself from the satin bedspread under which he had been searching, and looked up. "Eh?"

"I swore that I would never set foot in an android brothel again for as long as I lived." He prodded the disturbingly pale pink shag pile carpet with the toe of his boot. Lister's nose twitched; he'd been on his hands and knees on that carpet before, checking underneath the furniture. Centuries of dust wasn't something you'd like to inhale. "It just goes to show you should be careful how you phrase yourself."

"Classy," Lister noted, kicking the bedspread away as it snagged on his boot, and picking at a 3D-poster of a pair of enormous golden breasts. It was putting up a courageous effort of hanging on to the wall next to the bed. Lister couldn't really see why it bothered.

"Why do you always have to pick at everything?" Rimmer groused. He narrowed his eyes at the poster. "Are those nipples rather fake-looking diamonds?"

" _Pleasure Palace_ ," Lister read, tracing a finger across the lurid red letters " _Where Diamonds Are A Man's Best Friend._ Women Free Tuesdays And Thursdays."

Rimmer squinted at the subheading. "That's hardly fair."

Lister shrugged. "They were just trying to lure them in. Women don't go to these places, man."

"Well, I can't say I blame them. I wouldn't be here either, given any choice in the matter." A long, slender arm about the same color as the carpet snaked itself around his neck, and Rimmer pushed at it, frantically. "Will you _stop_ that," he hissed at the buxom blonde grinning inanely by his side.

"But I love you, Rimmer," the android's syrupy-sweet voice cooed in reply, batting perfect synthetic eyelids. The droids were kept in stasis, the holo-film they had been subjected to on the way in had proclaimed, so as to remain as rosy-fresh as possible for customers. Of course, the enterprising owners could not have anticipated that this feature would come in handy for when visitors arrived several million years after closing time. Left to their own devices, these girls could easily have gone insane with droid-rot, making Rimmer and Lister's scavenging experience a much less pleasant one.

Sighing, Lister sat down on the bed, bouncing half-heartedly on its protesting springs. "You know ye don't have one. There's no way we could let Cat lose in this place, and the sensors won't let in mechanoids. And I can't do it on me own, can I?" He wouldn't have minded, truth be told, but Kryten had insisted. As if Rimmer would be any help in an emergency.

Rimmer grunted, turning his attention to the small stack of fliers on a nearby side-table. The lingerie-clad android girl trotted after him faithfully, despite his efforts to shoo her away. Lister couldn't quite read even the titles from this distance, but judging from the illustrations, that was probably for the best.

"Look;" he told Rimmer's back, "we need supplies. Fuel levels are at minimum, and both of yer emergency back-up generators are gone. If we go through another power shortage, ye'll be out fer the duration." As he spoke, the slight brunette which had, until now, watched him adoringly, crawled into the bed beside him, and began to wrap her fingers around one of his locks.

"You're so smart," she thrilled, giggling. "I wish I was smart like you." Lister smiled at her, pulling gently back on his hair. She looked perfectly human, from most angles, and her skin, not that Lister had given it much thought, was as soft as that of any girl he'd felt up. Clearly, the technology on this station was centuries in advance of that miserable dump he had picked Rimmer up from on Mimas, what seemed like several lifetime ago. Well, it had been, hadn't it?

"Yes; what a terrible thing a power shortage would be to miss," Rimmer groused. "And what an impressive haul we've amassed! Half a dozen bottles of various alcoholic beverages, all of which I see you've taken personal charge of; a disturbing number of re-chargeable batteries, and a lifetime supply of scented towels. We're set for life if we ever want to open a franchise." He turned, raising an eyebrow. "You seem to be enjoying yourself though." He glared at Lister's whore-droid, who looked back at him, wide-eyed. "I didn't think you approved of android slave-labor."

"I don't. You heard what Kryten said; the droids in here have AIs that are all artificial and no intelligence. They're not people; they're just complicated algorithms. Isn't that right, darlin'?" He turned to the girl beside him, lifting her chin up, and looking into her eyes. It was all in the eyes. Simulant eyes glowed from within with hatred and rage, and Kryten's were perpetually terrified. This girl's, though deep-green and lovely, were empty like the fancy glass marbles they were.

"All androids are complicated algorithms," Rimmer mumbled, rolling his eyes at the cooing blonde. "I don't see why they have to follow us around like this all the time."

Lister shrugged, carefully negotiating the brunette's hand away from his groin. "It's just their programming."

"Well, why does she call me Rimmer? That's hardly up-close and personal, is it?"

"It's what she heard me calling you when we first came in. Why'd ye think mine keeps calling me 'smeg-for-breath'?"

"I _love you_ , smeg-for-breath," the brunette thrilled delightedly, falling backwards with a squeal when Lister stood up, abruptly. He picked up the makeshift sack he had made out of a duvet-cover, and rummaged around inside. Choosing a bottle at random, Lister bit at the cap with his teeth before realizing that it was a screw-top. He could practically feel Rimmer's nostrils widening on him from the other side of the room.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm having a smegging drink; what's it look like I'm doing?"

"What... here? _Now?_ "

"Yes, Rimmer," Lister waved the bottle, "here and now. There's nothing else to scavenge, and Cat won't be done siphoning fuel off the station in the hangar for at least four hours. We might as well get drunk."

"Lister..." Rimmer's eyes fluttered around like nervous butterflies, taking in the droid on his arm, the one now sucking on Lister's ear, and finally coming to rest on the bottle. Lister squinted at him. Was he trying to imply something? "If we get drunk now, who knows what might happen!"

Lister snorted. "What; are you afraid the droids are going to rape us? Fer the last time, man, they're _programmed_. They're not people, they're machines that just happen to look pretty. Yer more likely to get buggered by that chandelier." He took a swig from the bottle, then indicated the gigantic lighting fixture above the bed.

"I'm just saying there might be more productive ways of spending our time, that's all."

Something in Rimmer's desperate manner, funny though it was, made Lister put the bottle down and listen. "All right. I'm game. What do you suggest we do for the next three or so hours?"

Straightening, and simultaneously brushing the blonde android's arm off his shoulder, Rimmer waved a finger. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. Something sensible. Something respectable. Something wholesome and proper, and entertaining. We're going to go somewhere there's absolutely no chance that these metallic succubi will attack us in a moment of weakness."

Lister couldn't repress a slight giggle. "OK. Where?"

"We're going to the cinema."

 

 

 

 

"So they don't have sex in movie theaters on Io, then" Lister said, as the theater darkened, and the flat, unimpressive 2D screen lit up.

"Of course not!" Rimmer was wedged uncomfortably between Lister and the over-eager blonde android, who grinned at him happily. " _Normal_ people don't have sex in public, Lister."

"Someone did in here, though." The wide, comfortable seats were meticulously clean, smelling faintly of disinfectant. If they'd been cleaned millennia ago, the smell wouldn't have lingered, so Lister suspected it had all been sprayed down just before they'd entered. Somehow, that idea was far more lurid than any suspicious stains on the upholstery could have been.

"Oh, don't be revolting," Rimmer mumbled, fidgeting in his seat. He crossed his legs, and looked like he was trying to cross his face as well.

"Rimmer; it's a _brothel_. What the smeg d'ya think they'd have a theater _for_?"

"I don't know; staff recreation?"

Lister sniggered, settling back in his seat. The screen wasn't terribly good, but then neither was the film. It was dark though; dark enough that it took him a little while to notice that the android next to him had taken her top off. "Hey," he told her, "steady!"

"What?" Rimmer leaned over, recoiling as he saw the pale pink exposed bosom. "Oh, that's revolting!"

"What;" Lister spluttered, "breasts are revolting?"

"It's not that," Rimmer snapped, crossing his arms as well as his legs, "it's the very idea of it. It's unseemly."

The sight of him, pale and panic-stricken, couldn't help but make Lister laugh. "Are you honestly sure," he managed, through the bursts, doubling over, "that you are entirely heterosexual?"

" _What?!_ " Rimmer tried to crawl backwards, only managing to end up halfway in the blonde droids lap. "No!" He squealed, pawing at her scantily clad body to steady himself. "I mean, _yes_ , of-smegging-course, _yes!_ "

"Fine," Lister said, smirking. "Then prove it."

"I..." Rimmer flailed. "I don't have to prove _anything_ to you, squire!"

Rather than reply, Lister picked up the brunette-droid, placed her on his lap, and inclined her face gently towards his own. True to programming, she remained docile until he made a move - how boring was that, he thought - but when he pressed his lips against hers she responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck and pushing an oddly dry tongue into his mouth. All things considered, it was the best snog he'd had in centuries, and Lister was not ashamed to say he thoroughly enjoyed it. The artificial girl felt warm and pliant and almost real, and after a while her mouth was as wet as his own. Fine tendrils of saliva still connected his lips to hers as they finally parted, and he turned to Rimmer, one eyebrow raised in question.

Rimmer was gaping like a landlocked fish, his eyes bulging much like the same unfortunate animal. "Gah?" He said, eventually, unaware that the blonde behind him was caressing and messing up his hair.

"Yeah," Lister let the droid slip off his lap, and back into her own seat. "Like that, you know."

"Unseemly," Rimmer mumbled, his eyes still wide.

"Gay," Lister mumbled, chocking back giggles.

"Don't be so utterly childish!"

"There's nothing wrong with being gay."

" _I'm NOT GAY!_ "

"Prove it."

All at once, Rimmer had the blonde droid bent backwards at what would have been a painful angle for anyone alive, forcing his mouth on hers and pulling her close until Lister was sure her back would snap from the strain. She responded enthusiastically, however, whimpering and moaning as Rimmer wiggled his face exaggeratedly. There was an audible 'smack' when they parted, the android slumping backwards into a heap as Rimmer let her go.

"How was that?" Lister asked, stunned by the display. His mouth was as dry as the android's had been, and his head felt funny.

"Wonderful," Rimmer mumbled, woodenly. "Marvelous." He looked, impossibly, paler than usual, his manner mock-casual to the point of ridiculousness.

"You enjoyed that?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Good."

"Good."

Very quietly, nodding to themselves, each man turned to face the screen again. But Lister had just settled back into his seat when he felt a slight nudge against his side. A glance to his side revealed Rimmer, desperation now leaking through the woodenness of his expression. "What?"

"I need to find a bathroom."

Lister's face fell into an uncomfortable frown. "I didn't think ye needed... that. Sort of thing." Honestly, it wasn't something he spent a lot of time thinking about.

"I..." Rimmer began, before clearly catching himself, becoming, once more, stoic. "Well, you're hardly an expert on holography, are you, miladdio? Now let me pass!"

Shrugging, Lister pulled his legs up into the seat next to him - much to his android's simulated delight - and did.

 

 

 

"An uneventful excursion, then, sir?" Kryten asked, carefully stocking each bottle from Lister's haul alphabetically in the kitchen's tiny larder.

"So-so," Lister replied. "At least those girls got taken out for a spin. Can't be nice to have millions of years between dates, can it?"

"Now, Mister Lister," Kryten chided, closing the cabinet doors. "You know those were not truly artificially intelligent beings like me and Mister Rimmer. They were merely constructs..." he waved his hands about, as though searching for the right word, "unintelligent erotic i-pods, if you will."

Chuckling, Lister patted his square, metallic back. "I know, Krytes. Just seems like a waste, ya know?" All those girls-who-weren’t-really-girls. Guys too. There had been banks of them, cocoon after cocoon stacked along the walls, just waiting. And what did they get when someone finally arrived?

Arnold Rimmer. Even if they didn’t really have a life, that wasn’t much of one, was it? From his performance in the theater, Lister couldn't imagine that the man had ever really snogged someone without being drunk, or lead by the hand, or perhaps both. He hadn't come back after excusing himself, appearing suddenly, pretending like nothing, just as they were getting picked up. Lister had no so much as raised an eyebrow, though he knew exactly what had been going on. Mockery-material that good had to be saved and savored, and now the time had come. Leaving Kryten to his sorting, he left the kitchen, heading for the room Rimmer had taken as his own shortly after turning corporeal. Something, he’d said, about needing more space now. Whatever. Lister didn’t even have to go that far.

“What do you want?” Rimmer was huddled up with a book in a corner of the mid-section, having drawn the table and a dangerously rickety-looking chair there with him. The book was absurdly sized, as though it were making a point about its utter bookishness. Lister tried to lean over to glance at the title, but Rimmer snatched it away. “What,” he repeated, shouting now, his breath hitting Lister’s face.

Lister giggled. “Yer so very subtle, aren’t ya?”

“What on Io is that supposed to mean?”

“I can smell it on yer breath, man. Hell, I could smell it standing across the room from ya. Ye washed yer mouth out with soap, didn’t ya?”

Rimmer didn’t really have to reply; as if the smell hadn’t been enough, the intense scarlet of his face spoke not so much volumes as libraries. “Of course not!”

“Ye did!” The angrier Rimmer got, the harder Lister found it was to keep from right out laughing in his face. “Smegging space, man, yer not _normal!_ ”

“Lister, I did _not_ wash my mouth out with soap! What an utterly, utterly ridiculous thing to even imply! I mean, why would I do that, eh? What; you think I’m some… some sort of sad, pathetic individual that can’t even own up to his own lusts, is that it?”

Lister grinned. “Now that ya mention it… yeah, I do!”

“I’m _not gay_ , Lister.”

“I never said you was!”

“You did, several times; that’s how this whole thing got started. I’m not gay, Lister, and I didn’t wash my mouth out with soap.”

In retrospect it was, perhaps, inevitable, but Lister wasn’t usually one for thinking ahead. “Prove it,” he said, leaning across the table and into Rimmer’s face. In a moment Rimmer had him bent over the table, sticking his tongue far down Lister’s throat. It was slick and intrusive, and tasted disgustingly of overly perfumed lavatory soap, but there was no escaping Rimmer’s vice-like grip. In the back of his mind, Lister remembered the android blonde, and for a moment the fear that he was going to be snapped in half like one of those pencils Rimmer took it out on when his charts didn’t line up properly overcame him, but then, all of a sudden, it was over, and he lay on the table, gasping. Above him, Rimmer stood rigidly, panting and wild-eyed.

“There…” Rimmer wheezed, “told… told you… not. Soap.”

Lister tried to swallow, and a sickly scent – not taste, oddly enough – crept up through his sinuses from the back of his throat. He waited for a gag-reflex that never came, then smacked his lips without quite knowing why. “I’m ‘a go…” He said, pointing vaguely.

“Bathroom?” Rimmer asked, flatly.

Lister didn’t even wait to nod before he was out of the room and down the corridor. He really hoped they weren’t out of toothpaste.


End file.
